Indigenous activist and leader, Ailton Krenak (Aimoré/Krenak), has published three of his short essays in Ideas to Postpone the End of the World (Translated from the Portuguese by Anthony Doyle in 2020). With clarity and passion, he illustrates how the indigenous perspective acknowledges and nurtures relationships with parts of the Earth (like rivers and mountains).

His tone is matter-of-fact and simultaneously declarative and questioning: “No community that is in debt to the land can call itself sustainable, because we take out more than we can put back in. Our deficit to Gaia is half an earth per year.”

You could read this short volume with a cup of tea, but you’ll be thinking about his ideas for long after.

Toni Jensen’s Carry: A Memoir of Survival on Stolen Land (2020) also considers questions of sustainability, particularly in regards to fracking, and it was her photojournalism work on the sex trade and violence which proliferates alongside this resource extraction that landed this book on my stack.

Like Krenak, she reasserts herself in the landscape: “One thing the myth of the vanishing Indian continues to get wrong is that we’re disappearing.” But, she embraces contradictions: “What does it mean to try to pass? What does it mean to pass without trying?”

Her style is precise and some chapters are so delicately pleated with observations about the natural world that I wanted to run my fingers across each line of text, just to feel it again.

In Toni Jensen’s memoir, her complicated relationship with her Métis father, who taught her “about football, about the trapline” and “about violence and destruction and despair” is at the heart of the story.

True, too, of Jesse Thistle’s memoir, From the Ashes: My Story of Being Métis, Homeless, and Finding My Way (2019).

What I loved about Thistle’s story is the focus on boyhood. In time, he would collect fines like other boys collected hockey cards, but early on there are arcade games and movies, and a bizarre but relatable respect for French fries and gravy (I had my favourites too). His short chapters and vivid scenes pull in readers hard and fast; his boyhood perspective is consistent and credible, so that a relative’s increasing consumption of “brown pop” allows readers to recognize Jesse’s later “chemical haze” as part of a legacy. There is laughter with his young brothers, alongside the struggle (the air vent!); this, and knowing that he survives to write this memoir, balances the black-outs and vulnerability. Occasionally a poem introduces a touch of artistry—one about the Windigo in relationship to his personal experience of self-cannibalization is particularly powerful—embellishments not interruptions.

NOTE: Jesse Thistle’s memoir was one of the five contenders for CBC Canada Reads 2020. Another memoir, Samra Habib’s We Have Always Been Here, was written in a very different style; Thistle invites and immerses readers in emotional scenes that are sometimes hilarious and often painful, Habib analyses and presents her reflections on past selves. Two other indigenous novels were also contenders that year, Megan Gail Coles’ Small Game Hunting at the Local Coward Gun Club and Eden Robinson’s Son of a Trickster. And Cory Doctorow’s set of four speculative-fiction novellas, Radicalized, which are political in their own way. If you want to watch the debates, they’re online.